


My Prince

by FromFanToStan



Category: One Direction (Band), zayn malik - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Feels, Future Fic, Idiots in Love, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Smut, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-13 11:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19250326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromFanToStan/pseuds/FromFanToStan
Summary: Zayn texted him two days ago to say,they’ve talked me into the aladdin premier shall i come see you, and even though Harry intends to play it cool, to match Zayn’s modulated interest in him with a less enthusiastic response of his own, he texts back within minutes:of course you never have to ask.He hits “send” and then winces. Too eager. Too obvious.Zayn comes to visit Harry the night he is in LA for the Aladdin premiere. They've been seeing each other occasionally for a while, but this night Harry wants to push Zayn a little. He has plans, Harry does.





	1. Reconnecting

** Chapter One: Reconnecting **

Harry is restless and anxious. If Jeff were around, and thank God he and Glenne are up in San Francisco visiting her parents, then he would pry and pry at Harry until he got a confession. He would know it had something to do with Zayn, which of course it does.

He’s waiting in Jeff’s “pool cabana,” which has been remodeled to make a cozy apartment for Harry, who will not stay in his big Hollywood house alone, even though he can’t sell it and it sits, eating up maintenance costs and real estate taxes, a tribute to his few but bold financial follies. He gets it now. He only needs a home in London. He would give up the New York apartment but just can’t. It’s close to Zayn, and even though he never goes to see him when he’s in New York as briefly as he can make any trip there, he might. You never know.

Zayn texted him two days ago to say, _they’ve talked me into the aladdin premier shall i come see you_ , and even though Harry intends to play it cool, to match Zayn’s modulated interest in him with a less enthusiastic response of his own, he texts back within minutes: _of course you never have to ask_. He hits “send” and then winces. Too eager. Too obvious.

He wants to seem cool because he knows that Zayn’s RCA contract expires in a few months, and Irving, who knows everything about everything in the music business, has assured Harry that no, RCA will not be picking him up for another any length of time at all. Zayn’s refusal to act like a proper pop star, or R&B star, Harry supposes, has infuriated his management and the label, although Harry secretly loves it. He wishes he were even a quarter as rebellious and stubborn. It makes him weak to think of Zayn telling a record label, a label, to fuck off. It’s so independent. Harry doesn’t care. He will spend the money to promote Zayn even if Zayn does nothing to promote himself. He will cash in favors, he thinks recklessly, spend some of the capital he’s amassed in good will, if Zayn will be seen with him. That’s all he wants in return. Meanwhile, he cautions himself to be patient. Zayn is skittish, especially with him, especially with their history.

At last he hears the buzzer from the gate that says Zayn is here. He will not come when Jeff is around; he knows that when Zayn asks if he should come see him he’s also asking if Jeff is here. He hates Harry’s manager, and Harry can’t tell if it’s that Jeff is so fierce on Harry’s behalf, or if it’s that Jeff doesn’t approve of Zayn and it shows, or if it’s just that because of Jeff Harry spends all his time with rich people. It’s nothing new--Harry likes being around people with money and power, he likes when they listen to him, laugh appreciatively at the jokes the lads made fun of, clear paths for Harry to do what he wants with his music. He doesn’t think much about what they are asking in return from him.

Zayn rings the doorbell; he always rings, even though Harry has told him one hundred times to just come in, it doesn’t matter, he’s always welcome, he can always interrupt. Harry goes to the door and lets his eyes travel quickly from Zayn’s gleaming boots--they are Zegna, Harry thinks--to the rose-colored suit that brings out a similar color in Zayn’s cheeks, to the latest iteration of Zayn’s hair. He has a full beard. Harry frowns; he doesn’t like a full beard hiding so much of Zayn’s chin and cheeks.

“Yah, I see that face, Haz. I brought my supplies. Will you shave me?”

This is one of Harry’s favorite things to do. It allows him to take care of Zayn in an intimate but non-sexual way, and he gets to look at every contour of his face. Yes, he will shave him.

Harry shows him to the spare bedroom, because he never presumes, and he helps Zayn out of the jacket, hangs it on the covered hangers he saves for his own suits, offers a shoulder for Zayn to balance on as he unzips and slips out of his boots, his trousers. Harry doesn’t look at Zayn. He knows the rules. He can look when Zayn does, and Zayn isn’t looking yet. He’s preoccupied with finding a pair of trackies and some socks--his feet are always cold, and Harry thinks that if he stopped smoking he would have better circulation, but this too he keeps to himself---and taking out his shaving kit, the electric razor that will reduce Zayn’s beard to little more than stubble, and the strop, shaving cream, brush, and straight razor that Harry will draw ever so gently across his chin and cheeks and neck until the 17-year-old boy Harry fell in love with emerges.

“Will you shave too, Haz? I’ve been watching that stubble for months, and it’s going nowhere.”

“Will you shave me? With the straight razor?”

“Course I will, you know I will.” Zayn’s eyes meet Harry’s, and now Harry allows his eyes to feast. He is wearing the trackies and socks, and his chest is bare. Gigi’s eyes are covered at last. He looks healthy, thin but wiry as always, with defined abs and biceps. Harry pulls his own tee shirt over his head, lets Zayn look at his new tattoos, and then moves them into the master bath.

For the next forty-five minutes or so, Zayn and Harry don’t talk. Each is careful with the other, wanting to avoid drawing blood, and it sets the tone for how they will be together this night, careful, gentle, intimate. At one point, Harry hesitates to scrape away the little hairs that have come in on either side of Zayn’s eyes, and Zayn puts his hand over Harry’s and nudges him closer. Zayn closes his eyes to ease Harry’s mind, but all that does is make Harry reel from the sight of Zayn’s eyelashes against his upper cheeks.

Harry remembers meeting Zayn, before they were even accepted as contestants on the X Factor, and blurting out “Hi, I’m Harry, and you’ve got the most beautiful eyelashes! Are they real?” Zayn had given him The Look, the look he would always give him when he thought Harry had gone too far or stopped making sense, but so early on it wasn’t accompanied by fondness, and so it had stopped Harry in his tracks, made him stammer and apologize. He still remembers Zayn reaching a hand out to Harry’s chest and pressing gently: “Hey. It’s ok. I get that a lot. Yes, they’re real.” And then Zayn had given Harry his first smile, and Harry was lost.

Harry recovers his equilibrium and carefully scrapes away the little dark hairs at the corners of Zayn’s almond eyes. Zayn’s upturned face speaks of trust. Harry would like to think that he’s earned it by now, that they’ve earned each other’s trust back, but he doesn’t know. It’s always tricky.

He smooths his favorite Tom Ford aftershave over Zayn’s cheeks, lightly by the sides of his eyes, more firmly over his chin and throat. And then Zayn brushes shaving cream all over Harry’s face as though he’ll need it. They laugh for a minute, and Harry wants to pull Zayn closer, but he waits. He lets Zayn shave him; Zayn knows every facial hair on Harry’s face. He always does this, covers Harry’s face in a Santa beard of cream, only to shave his upper lip, his lower jaw line, his chin, and then lightly over his neck whether he needs it or not. Zayn takes a warm towel and covers Harry’s face before wiping the excess shaving cream away and smoothing the same Tom Ford over Harry’s cheeks. Zayn rubs a single finger gently over Harry’s upper lip, and then he kisses his lower lip and breathes out, “Hi.”

“Hi, babe. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Haz. More this time, I think, because I’ve been at the farm, and I like to imagine you there, weeding the garden and planting veg and looking all sexy.”

“You’ve only to ask me to come.”

“I saw you were in Philly the other week, with Xander.”

Ah. This is a delicate and narrow path for the conversation to tread. Zayn hates Xander, hates all rich, sporty types, hates that Harry had, a few times, taken his loneliness to bed with Xander, hates that Xander is in love with Harry, although that is only Zayn’s opinion.

“He’s been my friend for ages, Z. His mom died. I went to the funeral. And anyway, you and I, we’re not exclusive.” Harry is careful to pitch his voice low, not only because Zayn loves it but because he wants to be gentle and careful. “I would be exclusive with you if you wanted. Say the word.”

Zayn shakes his head. So nothing has changed, and Harry’s heart sinks a little, but he shows nothing on his well-trained face. He turns Zayn toward the mirror. “Look at us, babe. It’s like we’re teenagers again.”

They look, and indeed they look so young. Harry knows Zayn so well, knows how prone he is to nostalgia, counts on it, watches calmly as Zayn’s eyes soften and he moves in front of Harry, pulling Harry’s arms over his shoulders and down to his breastbone. “I miss flirting with you on stage, Z, it was so easy to throw you off.”

“And you were shameless,” Zayn says, laughing. “You gave me a half hard on more nights than one.” He pushes back into Harry’s groin, testing. Yes, Harry is half hard already; they have always had that effect on each other. Harry wonders, should they go directly to bed now? Try to catch Zayn in the endorphins of the after-glow? Or would it be fairer to pour them both a glass of wine and actually talk?


	2. Refraining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wants to talk business. Zayn has other ideas. Zayn prevails.

While Harry is considering whether he and Zayn should talk before they inevitably fall into bed together, Zayn takes the decision out of his hands, or so Harry tells himself. He thinks that all those years of pretending to be happy all the time have left their mark on him, and he has made the habit, difficult to break, of little while lies, especially to himself.

“Look what I brought for us, babe,” Zayn says, going back to the bag he had left by the door and pulling out a small cellophane pouch. “It’s the edible we like so much.” He holds up the pouch to Harry with a grin, remembering a few months ago. They were here that time too, and the high concentration of CBD in the edible had made them both relaxed but alert. Harry remembers the sex, the slowed down feel of it, the way his orgasm had started from a long way away, like looking at a horizon at sunset, but then it had come for him in waves until he had been engulfed. He had felt so close to Zayn that it was a shock the next day when Zayn left as usual, kissing him gently on the lips, murmuring, “See you next time, babe.”

Harry doesn’t want a repeat of last time, as good as it was. “How long are you staying this time, Z? The whole weekend, right?”

“Was planning on it. Still ok?”

“Yes, of course. You can always stay as long as you like. You know that.” He can’t help himself. Harry always feels he is the most himself with Zayn, more than with Jeff or Xander or even Gemma, because only Zayn knows how it really was during those years. Only Zayn saw the toll that being Harry Styles had taken, what was hidden behind his dimpled grin.

“Let’s get fucked up, then, yeah?” Zayn takes out a gummy for each of them, and then he rummages through Harry’s pantry until he finds the organic peanut butter that Harry favors. “Ugh, babe, this shit has to be stirred--you do it, ok? I always make a mess.”

Harry goes to him, reaches around him to the drawer to withdraw a spoon, boxes Zayn into the counter as he stirs the peanut butter, their vain attempt to disguise the taste of the gummy. There’s no way that Harry has found to make this concentrated type of cannabis palatable. He scoops out a spoonful for Zayn, who plants a gummy on the spoon and then allows Harry to guide the spoon into his waiting mouth, watching him grimace as he chews, admiring the full lips he’ll kiss and lick later.

He follows suit, gets the gummy down, washes the spoon because that’s always been his way, to clean up behind himself. He pours wine for both of them, and then he and Zayn go into the living room to drink and wait.

“Let’s take our clothes off, babe. I want to be naked with you.”

Zayn doesn’t answer him, just pulls off the tee shirt he’d barely had time to put on and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his trackies and pants to remove them in a single gesture. He still has on socks. “Harry, do I have to take off me socks? I know it’s not sexy, but I’m cold.”

Harry laughs at him. “Can’t have the socks on, babe. I’ve got a blanket right here, and you can tuck your feet under my calves the way you always do. I’m used to it.”

Harry undresses quickly, grabs the blanket on the end of the sofa, and pulls Zayn into his chest and the blanket over them both. He sighs with contentment. He could stay here forever. He meant it all those years ago: _I think I might give up everything/just ask me to_. Zayn had never asked, had never wanted Harry full time, but somehow knowing that he isn’t Zayn’s only has never changed how Harry feels. It makes their time together more precious for being rare.

“‘S nice, Haz. This is a nice little place Jeff’s made for you, the better to keep tabs on you, I reckon.” Zayn squirms against Harry, saying with the movement that he’s not trying to start an argument. Harry, encouraged, thinks maybe there’s time to talk before the drug hits and they want to do only one thing.

“Maybe, but it’s been good for me, mostly. You know I don’t hate rich people like you do. It’s kind of hypocritical, isn’t it, babe? You’ll take the private jet and the fancy suits and all the rest, same as me.” Harry tests the water, gauges Zayn’s mood. Is he prickly or serene now? It’s hard to tell without pushing some buttons.

“You’re not wrong, Haz. I like all the things--I just don’t like the people that come with them. You’re the only posh boy I like.” Ah, so it’s his soft Zayn tonight. Perfect.

“This posh boy likes his working class boy very much. Which is why I have a proposition for you.”

Zayn turns his head up toward Harry and raises his eyebrows. “Does this involve toys? Do you have some good sex stories for me?”

For reasons that Harry can’t explain, he and Zayn have always been open about their other sexual relationships. Zayn loves hearing about Harry’s exploits, with men or with women, and will press for details; they seem to turn him on. As for Harry, he knows more about Gigi’s body and sexuality than he ever thought he could without fucking her himself, between Zayn and Kendall, who both talk freely about their sex lives. In spite of Harry’s public reticence, in private he would say or do just about anything, so he’s never minded this kink of Zayn’s, get into the spirit of it, sometimes, embellishes his own stories and suspects Zayn of doing the same.

“Zayn, you perv! I’ve been really busy! Ok, I haven’t been that busy. I did have a hookup the night of the Gucci party in Rome.”

“Ah, I knew you would. Boy or girl?”

“Boy--it’s been all boys this past year, you know that. It’s been mostly boys since we made up. You spoil me for girls, make me forget how to be with them.”

“Tell me. How did you make your move?”

Zayn knows full well that Harry hardly makes the first move, hasn’t done in years, but he obliges with the details of his hook up with the pretty Italian model, who he had fucked in the back of the limo after leaving the party. Male models never had to be as thin as girls and this boy had a plump bum that Harry had enjoyed penetrating.

“So, Italian. Did he have a hairy ass, babe?”

Zayn was incorrigible. “He was hairlesss down there. Most models remove their pubes and any other body hair, as you well know, perv.”

“Um, yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve been around that scene. Never went for the boys, anyway. So, smooth and soft, yeah? Like doing anal with a girl?”

Harry can feel how Zayn’s skin is heating. “I’ve never done anal with a girl, Zayn, you know that. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s talk about your career.”

“Wow, way to kill a boner, Haz. What career? I’m barely doing anything--I needed this Disney gig just to keep from dipping into my principal. It’s a good thing I get financial advice from Jeff through you.”

“Well, RCA doesn’t promote you, right? You should be with someone who will.”

“Why should they promote me? I won’t do anything to help. Correct me if I’m wrong, Harry, because you know a lot more than I do about how the ‘industry’ works, but in order to promote someone they have to appear in public. Have I got that right?”

Zayn isn’t mad; Harry can tell, but he can also tell that now isn’t the time to talk business.

“My rebellious boy,” Harry says fondly. “You just want to fuck and fight, right?”

“Yeah, babe, and let’s start with the fucking. Do you wanna top? Because I want to make you forget your little Italian model.”

“He’s already forgotten, Z. I had forgotten him by the time I left his hotel room. Nobody fucks like you do. Nobody ever has. Like I said, you’ve spoiled me.”

Harry feels the edible starting to relax him. He reaches under Zayn’s arms to stroke down the vee of his groin, admiring how hard his muscles are and how slim he stays without trying. Harry has always had to be careful about what he eats, how much exercise he gets, and still, he’ll have a little pudge if he’s not strict, which Zayn swears he loves. He brings his mouth to Zayn’s ear, whispering to him as he did so many times on stage: “I want to tear you up, Zayn. I’m going to fuck you so hard I’ll have to bring you breakfast in bed tomorrow because you won’t be able to walk. I’m going to destroy my Disney prince. If only they knew….” His words are reckless when he relaxes.

“Yeah? Prove it, Harry Styles. Show me just how Harry Styles you can be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, kudos and comments are deeply appreciated. Hey--Tumblr says the boys are ALL in London right now. The fic is writing itself....


	3. Requesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes progress in his plans for Zayn. In the process, he might notice that Zayn's feelings for him run a little deeper than he realizes. Trigger warnings for allusion to slightly rough sex (biting, bruising).

** Chapter Three: Requesting **

Harry tries not to wake Zayn, but he allows himself a few minutes to turn slowly over in bed to look at him and to remember. His wrists are lightly bruised from where Harry had gripped them above his head, insisting that Zayn not touch himself. Harry lifts the duvet slightly and can see in the pale morning light that he had left bite marks on Zayn’s thighs. He likes thinking of Zayn wincing slightly when he pulls on trousers, at least for a few days after he leaves Harry. It’s Saturday morning sometime. He thinks that he’ll make them brunch. 

If left to his own devices, Zayn won’t wake until noon, and then he’ll want breakfast, so Harry will make a feast for him in bed, French toast, he thinks to satisfy Zayn’s sweet tooth, strawberries just now ripe and picked himself on a friend’s farm, omelets with the goat cheese and olives he bought at the farmer’s market. He’s hungry. Maybe a piece of toast and some coffee while he waits? But when he moves toward the edge of the bed, to slip out, shower, dress in the little yellow shorts that make Zayn crazy, Zayn reaches for him, mumbles something in his sleep very much like don’t go, and Harry puts his head on the pillow next to Zayn. HIs hair looks like Harry’s had in the early days, he notices, only slightly jealous. His own hair has gotten straighter and thinner as he moves through his twenties, but Zayn becomes more luxuriant and beautiful with every year. He resists the urge to run his fingers through all those thick curls and instead contents himself with looking.

After brunch, he thinks he will get out guitars. He wants Zayn to hear a song he’s been working on, even though it’s about him--it’s about letting go of someone you love and how we don’t have the right to hold on. He suddenly feels a peace, because it’s true isn’t it? So many people try to hold on to Harry, and he always politely slips away. 

Only a few will he call friends, fewer than might think, and they are all characterized by their lack of demand. They ask Harry to do things--James wants him on the show much more often than he will go, Xander occasionally complains about not getting to walk alongside him anymore, the Gerbers love to be seen with him but he only allow it three or four times a year. Ben he doesn’t see much--the favor Ben called in for the TV show has created a rift. God knows his girlfriends have learned to make do, but he’s always been with easygoing women who appreciated him when he was around and seemed not to miss him when he was gone. Only the Azoffs get most of what they want from him, and he gets a great deal in return.

That doesn’t sound like love. It’s not what he feels for Zayn. He would keep Zayn by his side if he could. He wants to tie Zayn to him, with thin strands of silk to be sure, but bindings nonetheless. He reaches out to stroke an errant curl from Zayn’s eye, which has been twitching while Harry looks at him. Zayn snuggles closer, wraps an arm around Harry’s waist, and just that creates a heat and heaviness in Harry’s groin. He has never been so responsive to another’s touch; he suspects he never will be. If he can’t work it out with Zayn, he’ll be some version of alone.

He waits until Zayn’s breathing deepens and slows, until he is deeply asleep again, before he slips out of the bed and starts his morning rituals: twenty minutes of yoga, twenty minutes of meditation, then a shower, then coffee and dry toast with local honey. His muscles ache a bit too. Being Harry Styles last night was work--Zayn always makes him work. Today he wants to talk to him, after they play some music together. 

On Zayn’s last visit, they had pulled out guitars and played a few 1D songs. At first Zayn protested, _no, Harreh, I don’t like to go back to those days, there’s only you and Liam, forget the rest_ , but Harry had said, _please, sing “If I Could Fly” with me, it’s your song_ , and they had, harmonizing. Harry got to hear Zayn’s voice thread in and out of the melody in that playful way he had, and he got to look at Zayn and have Zayn look at him and admit, silently, that he hurt Harry by going, that Harry had longed for him and still did. It was quite emotional. _I hope that you’ll listen because I’ve got my guard down. Right now I’m completely defenseless_ …. Harry had let himself get lost in the moment, and Zayn hadn’t pulled away. It’s why he has started thinking that there might be a way forward for them.

Today, he’s going to move in the direction of asking Zayn to join Erskine, to be the first artist besides himself signed to his company. He knows Jeff set it up for financial reasons, but that doesn’t mean Harry can’t use it for what he wants, and he wants Zayn. He’ll have him retain all his songwriting credits, unless as Harry hopes they can co-write on some of them. He thinks there is a way for their music to blend in a way that could be interesting for them both and maybe commercial as well. 

Harry makes coffee and takes it out to the pool. Jeff and Glenne won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. He has over twenty-four hours to make his case. He knows how charming he can be. His charm had drawn Zayn back to him, even if only occasionally, even if only with a bit of his heart. That’s all charm can do, really. For the rest, he’ll have to offer Zayn something he doesn’t already have, which is someone in the industry who will be 100% of his side, like Jeff is on Harry’s. He knows Zayn doesn’t think he needs it. Harry knows that he does.

 

He doesn’t have to wait as long as he expected to; Zayn wanders out naked around 11, complaining that it’s lonely in bed without Harry. He’s walking, so Harry has failed and he says so, laughing: "Babe, you’re walking around, I must not have drilled you hard enough last night."

“Look at me! I’m black and blue! You didn’t see me struggling up to have a wee, did you? And what’s this on my thighs? Were you trying to fuck me or eat me?”

Harry can’t answer that; this always happens when they get high. Once one of them makes the first sexual move, it all becomes a haze, and last night was no exception. Harry does remember that he had the thought of devouring Zayn, that he would like to live behind his ribs or have Zayn live behind his. The possessiveness of the thought frightened him then, almost knocked him from his high. He just never gets enough of Zayn. 

“Don’t see why I can’t do both, babe. I could eat a little bit of you right now if you’ll come here.”

“I’m gross, Harry. I’m pretty sure the stickiness on my stomach and thighs is come and lube, and my dick’s a little crusty too. Take a shower with me.”

And even though Harry has already showered, he follows Zayn inside to the spacious shower that was his one request when Jeff was remodeling, fills his palm with body wash, and spreads it gently over Zayn, front and back, smiling when Zayn’s cock begins to fill.

“It’s morning, Haz, and you’re touching me with slick stuff. Stop looking like you’re so sexy I can’t help but be turned on.”

“Are you saying I’m not that sexy?”

“Nah, I just want you to stop looking so much like you know it.”

Zayn draws Harry up from his knees,where he has soaped and rinsed Zayn’s toes before licking and sucking on them. He’s hard now; they both are again, as usual. “How do you want me, Haz? Take me from the back in here, yeah? I’m still loose enough--just use a little body wash, get me clean inside and out.”

“Hold on, let me get a condom.”

“Do you fuck any of your models without a condom, babe?” Harry shakes his head no. He’s always safe.

“And I haven’t fucked anyone since I saw you last, and I’ve been tested. I’m clean.”

Harry only has a second to appreciate the enormity of what Zayn has just admitted, that he’s saved himself for Harry, that he’s giving Harry a rare gift, before Zayn has turned away from him, spreading his legs wide, hissing, “Do it, Harry. I want you to. No barrier--just you and me.”

Zayn is in one of Harry’s soft fluffy robes, drinking coffee and watching the sun rise over the canyon, when Harry brings brunch out to the poolside table.

“Ah babe, I never help at all. I’m not a good guest at all. You should kick me out.” Those are his words, but something in his eyes says, forgive me, I want to do better, and Harry melts a little.

“You’re my guest. I don’t want you to help. I want you to enjoy your time here.” Zayn is appreciative of the food, eats more than he usually does, humming his satisfaction, and Harry feels proud that he does this, that he can satisfy all of Zayn’s appetites. There’s still the matter of the song. And beyond the song, to Harry’s wildest dream, the one he barely allows himself.

“Hey, when I get the kitchen cleaned up, can I play you a new song I’ve written? It’s about you, and there a place where I want to hear what a harmony would sound like. Would you mind?”

“Haz, you can’t say, oh, I’ve written a song about you, will you sing on it.”

“Just for now, though, just so I can hear how it sounds. Here--I’ve got the lyrics copied. They’re already registered.”

The song is called “I Know You Are Free,” and it’s intentionally a bit more in Zayn’s zone than Harry’s. From the look in Zayn’s eyes, he knows it too. He looks over the lyric and the music, and says only, “Play it through for me, and I’ll listen for where I can come in.” Zayn doesn’t read music. Harry taught himself. That’s the way it is between them, with Harry working hard and Zayn having the natural gifts, Harry thinks. 

Harry plays it through twice, careful to keep the emotion in check, and then on the third time, there’s Zayn, and they sound so good together, even Zayn must be able to see that their voices blend like they are made to sing together, Harry’s lower rasp and Zayn’s higher velvet, it’s beautiful.

“Would you think about recording it with me, Z? You don’t have to take a credit if you don’t want? Just, be the background vocal? I’ve got some studio time in the morning. I wasn’t sure if you’d stay--I can cancel it if you’d rather not, or….”

“Harry. I know I don’t come around that much. I know I’ve been reluctant to be seen with you. But stop walking on tiptoes around me. We’ve been through too much. Do you want me to do this for you?”

Harry nods, yes, he does, more than anything.

“Then I will. We can decide later if you want to list me when it’s released, but I don’t think it’s vain to say my voice will be recognizable. I don’t mind, though. It’s a good way to say to the world that we’re not bitter with each other, and I can be safely hidden away in New York or on the farm when it happens.” He laughs, but he also cups Harry’s face and kisses him softly. “It’s a gorgeous song from a gorgeous man. And I’m proud of you and of it.”

That’s beyond what Harry thought was achievable, really. He schools his face in something like mild pleasure, but inside he exults. He can make Zayn his, and this is the first step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think Harry will get his way? I think he's charming enough, but Zayn has always resisted those charms with so much force. I'm still not sure. Of course, the usual disclaimers. "Harry" and "Zayn" are characters, and it is certain nothing of this has happened or will happen. Too bad.


	4. Recognition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He waits fifteen minutes. That’s how long, he knows, that it generally takes Zayn to work through something in his head and start to feel guilty if he’s doing something wrong. Harry breathes. He sees himself releasing HS2, touring in support of it, being fine that Zayn isn’t with him, being fine in life without him. No one gets everything they want. Not even Harry Styles._
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> Harry is about to get everything he wants. It's probably good that he doesn't know it.

_**“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”** _

_The Little Prince_  
by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

The thing is, Harry is right about almost everything. Zayn is shit at managing his own life; it kept Gigi with him well beyond their expiry date, trying to get him _organized_. He isn’t sure why people want to take care of him, nor why he fights them so. He fidgets in his seat on the private jet, unable to concentrate on his phone, thinking about what and who is waiting for him.

What Harry doesn’t know, and what Zayn has never said, is that Zayn loved him from the beginning, from when he was a fresh-faced and overly-sensitive baby whose feelings were written all over his face to the handsome, guarded man he sees now. Everyone always thinks that Harry and Niall made it through the surreal experience of One Direction relatively unscathed. In truth, they were probably the most damaged. Zayn’s injuries were out there where everyone could see them ( _I won’t, I won’t/Cover my scars/I’ll let them bleed…_ ). They drove him to behave recklessly, self-destructively, as did Liam’s. It’s why, besides Harry, he only talks to Liam these days. He’s proud of the interviews Liam’s been doing and how he’s talking about what being in 1D had done to him as well as for him. He likes to think he was a small part of Liam’s “coming out.”

But yeah, Harry was damaged. He was so open and trusting in the beginning. Louis hurt him badly, toyed with him really, in that way that boys do, just to see what happens. He never meant to hurt him, never understood until too late how much Harry had cared, never really wanted to deal with it after. He can say what he likes about what Zayn did or didn’t do, and Zayn will never answer him, but Zayn doesn’t talk to Louis over Harry. Who picked up the pieces of Harry’s broken heart? Who found girls for him when he was too devastated to do his own pulling? Who reminded him again and again how gorgeous he was? And who withheld his own desires to let Harry heal, since he couldn’t be another boy who hurt Harry?

It wasn’t Louis’s fault, though, not really. What a fucked-up situation they were all in. Zayn is well out of it, he thinks, and for all that Harry thinks he’s manipulating Zayn into choosing fame again, he’s always been obvious to him. For all the years that Zayn has loved Harry and never said, he’s watched Harry try to maneuver around him and the other boys, try to make things go his way. He’s much better at it now--that’s Jeff for you--but Zayn knows him too well. He still loves him, in spite of the veneer he wears now. It slips away whenever Zayn stays a few days, and it’s irresistible, being the one who sees the real Harry again. He saw a year ago, when they hooked up after that industry party that somehow Zayn had been invited to and that he attended because he knew Harry was going to be there, that Harry still had feelings for him. He didn’t know what they were, exactly, but they were strong and hard for Harry to hide.

Zayn remembers the way he knew the second Harry came in to the party, how the air thickened and hummed, how he had had his back to that door but knew well before Harry came to him that he was coming. They had always been so aware of each other. At the last minute he had turned, smiling at the relief on Harry’s face.

“I thought you might not speak to me, Zayn. But hi,” Harry said, mouth somber but eyes lighting up, just a little.

“It’s good to see you, Haz. Sorry about all the shit I’ve said. I was hurt.” 

“I know. I’ve forgotten about it. It made me mad for a while, and then I was just missing you again, so….” Harry shrugs, lifts a hand as though he might sling an arm across Zayn’s shoulders, thinks better of it and lets the hand drop.

“What would you think if I asked you to leave with me, Haz? Like in fifteen minutes I’ll be in a car out front, and we can just go somewhere and talk?”

Harry had lit up at that, and that was how it started. Then as now, they went to Harry’s place, and then as now they touched each other, let the desires bloom that never found expression when they saw each other every day. 

And so now over a year had passed, and Zayn is supposed to be on his way to LA again. Harry made an excuse about laying down some backing vocals, but Zayn knows that Harry is going to ask him to let his record company take over his career, and Zayn thinks he’s going to let him. He likes being taken care of, being someone’s prince. He’s going to tell Harry how he feels; he’s going to make some compromises that he never made for Gigi. He’s going to take on a bit of fame again, for Harry. Trouble is, he can’t make himself leave the apartment.

Harry is nervous again. They recorded “I Know You Are Free,” and as Harry had predicted their voices sounded great, better than he had hoped, and now the single is going to be released in three weeks. He’s persuaded Zayn to come to LA again, to record some more backing vocals to add some layers to the harmonies that bear his distinctive sound. At Zayn’s request, he’s not listed in the credits for the song, but anyone who hears it will recognize his voice. It’s so beautiful, and it complements Harry’s the way it always has. He’s better with Zayn in every way. He knows that. Zayn really is his prince.

Now he’s pacing again in his living room. He has decided that this trip he’s going to bare his soul, tell Zayn that he loves him and that he wants to sign him, even though the two events should be completely separated. He can’t wait any longer. Working with Zayn, being in bed with him, rediscovering the easy joy that had been between them for a time--it’s cracked the facade that Harry maintains, made him want again. Zayn hasn’t show up to the airfield where the jet Harry sent waits. It’s so Zayn that Harry could kill him.

As Zayn had predicted, their collaboration had not gone completely unnoticed.

ZAYN MALIK AND HARRY STYLES RECORDING? SHUT UP! blared one tabloid. “Zayn Malik and Harry Styles Were Seen Leaving Recording Studio in LA” stated The Guardian more sedately. Both their Twitter feeds blew up, or so Zayn complained to Harry over FaceTime. “This is just what I didn’t want to happen, Haz. I don’t like being the center of attention. You know that.”

Harry did know that. It is a bone of contention between them.

His phone buzzes: a new text. Zayn still hasn’t arrived at the airfield. Wait for him how much longer?

Harry knew this might happen, knew that Zayn has the tendency to let his anxiety rule him when he’s stepping out with something new or different. He’s not sure if his own charms will work long distance, but he’ll try. He FaceTimes Zayn, lets it ring as long as the app will allow, manages his frustration with deep breathing while he waits. No answer. Zayn. I know you’re there.

He texts. _Babe. I know you’re at home. FT with me._

He waits fifteen minutes. That’s how long, he knows, that it generally takes Zayn to work through something in his head and start to feel guilty if he’s doing something wrong. Harry breathes. He sees himself releasing HS2, touring in support of it, being fine that Zayn isn’t with him, being fine in life without him. No one gets everything they want. Not even Harry Styles.

He tries again, and this time, miraculously, Zayn’s sulkiest facial expression comes into view.

“Babe, the plane is waiting for you. What’s going on?”

“I can’t do it, Harry. I’ve thought about it, and I can’t do it. Look at my hands--they’re shaking, and I’m not even on the plane.”

“Ok, babe, maybe you could just come out here, maybe we could just be together for a few days, yeah? Have you got any appointments?”

Zayn pouts. Harry knows he seldom makes appointments. Harry wants so badly to get Zayn out of the hiding place he’s been in for several years. He knows the real Zayn--the one who sparkles, the witty one who can make Harry laugh at the most inappropriate times with his puns and bon mots, the affectionate one who takes care of those he loves.

“Please, Zayn? I’m just longing for you right now. I don’t care if we go back to the studio. The song is great as it is.” This is a lie, one of the little white ones that Harry has become so proficient in telling, but it’s worth it.

Zayn pouts and pauses for long enough that Harry thinks, _ok, I’ve lost him_. But then, no, he hasn’t. He hasn’t.

“Yeah, alright, sorry you had to do this. I’ll go. Look--my bag was packed and everything. I just couldn’t make myself call for a car.”

“I’ll call for a car, babe. Fifteen minutes, and then you’ll be on your way.”

Harry waits again. Jeff and Glenne have cleared out, this time for Harry, so that he has the time with Zayn uninterrupted. Harry thinks again that he’s lucky to have Jeff, that Zayn is wrong about him, or maybe just jealous of him. The Azoffs have made him part of the family. He knows he’s good at being part of families, that his willingness to pitch in and help, his courtesy and his ease with children, all contribute to how willingly he has been embraced by how many couples and families. It’s sad, Harry thinks, that so many celebrities behave the way they do, and yet it makes him look good by just being a normally nice person.

He catches up on texts; that takes an hour of his time. Then he catches up on emails, which he must have ignored for at least a week. He says yes to going to a concert that will promote a band Jeff just signed. He says no to a brunch this weekend, when he hopes Zayn will still be here. He says no again to a Paper Magazine cover, although he thinks that he will probably give in in the end. They’ve been pursuing him in a manner that is both flattering and amusing. He loves those two qualities when they turn up together.

He hears from his mom--he had FaceTimed her when he couldn’t reach Zayn, and she wants to know what happened. “Sorry, Mum. I forgot that I called you in a panic. You know how he is. He’s coming, though.”

“Harry, I know exactly how he is, and I love him, but are you sure this is worth the pain? I’ve known you to love people, but I’ve only ever seen you need one, at least since you stopped needing me.”

“Mum! I’ll always need you!”

“You know what I mean, Harry Styles, and you haven’t answered the question. Is he worth it?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answers honestly. “But you’re right. He’s different for me--I need him, and I think he needs me too, if only he would admit it.”

“Ah, love. Patron saint of lost causes. Remember when you used to rescue birds with broken wings and try to make casts from sticks? That one time I actually took the bird to the vet.”

Anne shakes her head, smiling at the memory. Harry always had a big heart.

“Zayn’s not a lost cause, Mum. He’s sensitive. And he was the most injured by One Direction. It f--, it hurt all of us, but Zayn most of all. He’s still recovering, I think.” Harry has never been able to acknowledge his own trauma; it’s why, if he knew it, he needs Zayn so much.

“Ok, sweetheart. You do what your heart tells you. Give Zayn my love.”

Her face freezes on the screen, smiling, and for a minute he feels like he’s fourteen again and wants nothing more than to bury his face in her lap and cry his eyes out. He’s going to be a man, though. He’s pursuing all his dreams, even the impossible ones.

Harry knows that with Zayn the wise move is to let him get off the plane and into the car Harry has waiting, let him decompress from flying by giving him the forty minutes or so in the car to collect his thoughts. He knows all this, but here he is anyway, waiting inside the tiny office of the private terminal as the Azoff jet lands. He cannot wait to have his hands on Zayn again. He hasn’t seen him since that weekend two months ago, and he still hasn’t wanted to be with anyone else. He schools his face into happy but not desperate and walks out onto the tarmac when the door swings open and the stairs descend.

“I thought I’d surprise you. Are you hungry? Want to get something?”

Zayn’s face is still a bit sulky, but he mutters, “Nah, babe. I just want you to hold me. I’ve been jumping out of my skin for six hours.”

Harry doesn’t know if it’s okay to hug him here? He tries anyway, and Zayn presses his entire body to Harry’s. This is new, and welcome. They go back to Harry’s and to each other’s arms.

Zayn tops. Sometimes Harry can tell that Zayn needs the feeling of control, and he’s always happy to give it to him. He insists on being face to face, and sometime before coming deep inside Harry, he whispers, “I love you, Haz. I always have.”

Harry is splayed open, literally and emotionally, and he feels as though his heart will burst. Instead, he comes hard, and then Zayn is coming hard, and then they are sweaty and messy and soaping each other up in the shower.

“I meant it, Harry,” Zayn says as he tries to make Harry’s newly shorn hair into shampoo sculptures. “I love you. I always have. And I know what you want.”

“You always know what I want, babe. And did I tell you I love you too? I’d planned to say it since I asked you to come out. I think I’m obvious.”

“Nah, you never let on. I just couldn’t wait any more. I’m tired of trying to act all cool and disinterested when I just want to hold you all the time these days.”

So that’s sorted, the most important thing, Harry thinks, and he’ll bring up the business angle later. In the morning, maybe. He doesn’t know that Zayn has already decided to say yes.

****

**+++**

The lights are blinding as always. Zayn has been on many red carpets, but they never get comfortable. Like so many red carpets of the past, though, he has Harry’s comforting presence at his side.

“Zayn! Harry, look over here!” Harry has his hand firmly at Zayn’s waist, and it tells Zayn both that Harry knows how hard this is for him and that he appreciates it.

Harry! What made you decide to take a part in the movie so soon after the release of your second solo album?”

“Zayn, care to comment about how you and Harry never talked? You seem to be talking now!” The paparazzi laugh, as does the crowd behind them.

Zayn doesn’t mind: they’re right. He told so many lies out of hurt. He breathes deeply, using the self-soothing strategies his therapist has taught him. Being on the red carpet will never be his happy place, but being with Harry is worth it.

“I might have exaggerated slightly,” he says, smiling for the cameras. He exchanges glances with Harry. It’s his moment, his first starring role in a romantic comedy, and he’s amazing, funny, sexy, charming--all the things that he is in real life. “But this is Harry’s day. Ask him about the movie. We’re doing a joint interview for _Rolling Stone_ that you can all read next month.”

Harry looks at his approvingly. He’s taught him well about cross-promoting. They make a great team. It’s been six months, and Harry plans to make this partnership permanent, if Zayn is willing. The ring is shining brightly inside Harry’s night table on his side of their shared bed.

He doesn’t know it yet, but Zayn has already decided to say yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've become one of those people who notices when the RL Zayn and Harry are in the same town, and it activates my Zarry feels. The usual disclaimers--they never talked, they weren't friends, blah, blah, blah. #ohHarry #ohZayn


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